Hurt
by Princess of the Pearl
Summary: Will has sailed away on the Flying Dutchman. Jack has sailed away on the Black Pearl. Her father is dead. When Elizabeth is at her lowest low, who will be there to raise her up again? Post AWE, Sparrabeth.
1. Crown of Thorns

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HURT

**Chapter 1—Crown of Thorns**

**SUMMARY:** Will has sailed away on the Flying Dutchman, Jack has sailed away on the Black Pearl, and her father is dead. When Elizabeth is at her lowest low and needs someone to raise her up again, who will be there?

**DISCLAIMER:** Jack'n'Lizzie etc. do not belong to me. I make no money from the writing of this fan-fiction.

**SHIP:** Sparrabeth. Willabethers are welcome, but ye have been warned!

**RATING:** T (for Teen)

**A/N: **This idea came to me when I was feeling particularly moody, so be warned that this story is a little darker than some of my others (but fear not, you all know by now that I can't stand depressing endings). This is a song-fic to Johnny Cash's rendition of "Hurt," as the title suggests—the song's lyrics will appear in a later chapter.

I would also like to extend a huge thank you to my friend sweetness328 for her feedback and comments! If you haven't already, you should check out some of her stories… she is supremely talented!

* * *

The rain was hard and harsh and it stung Elizabeth's skin like pebbles pouring from the sky as she made her way along the dirt road towards her home. The wind howled as she trudged along, her fingers tightly grasping the handles of her woven burlap sacks to the point that they hurt, her delicate skin a pour match for the rough fabric. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.

She kept her head down to avoid the rain blurring her vision. Her thin cloak did very little to shield her from the elements and she fought the urge to tremble from the cold. Her golden hair darkened from the rain was flattened against her forehead and hung around her face. It was getting harder to walk with her soaking clothes adding on extra weight and every few steps or so her ankles would roll as small rocks met the soles of her boots.

She finally reached the fork in the road, where going to the left narrowed down into an overgrown path that meandered towards the beach. Going up to the right led to the one-room cottage on the cliff that she had single-handedly salvaged upon reaching this island.

The narrow path that led up the hill and to her cottage was uneven and overgrown with pampas grass. She would have to do something about that once the weather improved. It had rained more than she expected it to in the long month she'd been living there. She _had _hoped the time would pass more quickly and put herself to work at restoring the abandoned bungalow, figuring that hard work would help take her mind off of things. It had, for the time being, but after two weeks of constant work and little sleep, and she found herself feeling more alone than ever.

She finally reached the front door and plunged her chilled hand into the oversized pocket of her apron. The wet fabric clung to her skin and she felt as though she had to pry the key loose from its woven confines. She half-wondered why she bothered to lock the door in the first place—it wasn't as if anyone paid attention to her enough to know that she lived alone, outside of town, where she was vulnerable. And it wasn't as if she couldn't take care of herself should someone actually try. Will had taught her well how to use a sword and she'd taught herself how to shoot. She wasn't in danger.

When the door was open, she was instantly met with the sound of dripping water. She hastily set her groceries on the ground and pulled her hood over her head to see water leaking from the ceiling in not one, not two, but three places. One leak was not more than three inches from hitting the wood burning stove, so she used the smaller of her two wooden pales to catch the water. The remaining two leaks were dripping in the corner, near her night stand, and she was able to use the larger of the two pales to catch them both. She sighed as she peeled her wet cloak off her shoulders. Apparently her hard work hadn't been hard enough.

Once she had removed all of her wet clothing and replace them with her only spare outfit—the underdress she had from her one time with Will—she knelt down to inspect the state of her provisions. The bread had soaked through its paper packaging and was effectively ruined. The produce fared better and she was relieved she didn't have to worry about the humidity making it mold so quickly. The cold storm prevented it.

Not all was lost… being Pirate King, whether she embraced the roll or not, entitled her to a salary just big enough to sustain herself without having to learn other means of employment. She'd gotten a visit from Captain Teague Sparrow not more than three days after settling into her new environment—how he knew where to find her was still a mystery to her, but she supposed it didn't matter now. He had tried to convince her to return with him to Shipwreck Cove, where she could "rule" from the pirate fortress, but the idea didn't feel right. So he left her with a year's supply of money and told her he would return or send another in another year. She hid it under the floorboards beside the chest the housed Will's beating heart, determined to use it as sparingly as possible.

His visit was oddly comforting. Jack was so like his father that spending time with the elder Sparrow was indeed like spending time with the infamous captain, without their uncomfortable history. He amused her very much with his stories of adventure and Jack's younger days… it was easy to see where Jack's gift for language and storytelling came from. Teague left her with the smallest glimmer of hope that the next morning she might wake up and not feel so completely alone in a world where everyone else had forgotten about her.

It didn't, though, for he sailed away like everyone else had in less than 24 hours. She supposed she would get used to her solitude and even come to appreciate the quiet, but when that time would come, she wasn't sure. She knew she could have gone back with him, but her title and crown really wouldn't do her any good—she knew it wouldn't fill the void or solve her problems. Her crown was nothing more than a crown of thorns.

She went to the wooden trunk next to the door and carefully lifted the lid. Luckily, none of the three leaks had decided to spring over her dwindling supply of firewood and she lifted out just a few logs, the minimum amount to get a decent fire going in the stove. She wasn't hungry, but she felt tense and depressed, and so decided to brew some tea. It was a local blend of chamomile and mint and more often than not it helped her sleep, which she was thankful for, since her mind was so often flooded with thoughts that decent rest was a fleeting luxury.

Once the kettle was on, she crossed several feet across the cottage to the worn yet inescapable comfortable arm chair in the center of the room. She tucked her legs up and underneath her, wrapping her arms around herself as she waited for the heat of the stove to transcend the boundaries of the cottage's walls.

"I'm lonely," she said plainly, as if saying it aloud would elicit a trigger in anyone she knew to remind them that she was still alive. The felt forgotten abandoned, remembering how she felt when the flash of green engulfed the Flying Dutchman, only to look to the west and see the Black Pearl shrinking on the horizon. Warm, salty tears stung her eyes and she suddenly felt embarrassed and angry at her rapidly increasing flair for the dramatic.

She leaned her head into the high back of the chair and closed her eyes, feeling as though she could fall asleep then and there. She'd been so tired lately, a symptom, she supposed, of her increasing sense of melancholy. She inhaled deeply through her nose as another wave of nausea hit her—another recent development that she blamed on her lack of sleep and transitory appetite.

Her mind began to drift, quite involuntarily, and somewhere through her haze of thoughts was a pair of dark, intoxicating, kohl-rimmed eyes staring at her, accompanied by an ever-present smirk that said a million different things and yet said nothing.

Her eyes snapped open. She'd been thinking of Jack quite a bit lately, yet it still came as a surprise to her whenever she did. Why _him_? Why weren't her thoughts more focused on Will, the husband who loved her so much he'd risked life and limb over and over again to save her? Whenever she did managed to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, and whenever she was visited by dreams, Jack always seemed to appear, in one form or another. It was as if her subconscious was trying to tell her something that she was in no way willing to accept.

As she sat there, effervescent thoughts of the two captains in her mind swirling through her head, the same familiar question popped into her head. _Why did he leave me? _She'd thought of this question countless times, though she never really knew which "he" she was talking about.

She knew that in Will's case, he really didn't have a choice. He had a job to do now, a new life that for the first time since they were children, did not involve her. In Jack's case, however, she felt forsaken, like he'd been waiting all along for an opportunity to sever ties with her. She sighed. If that was the smallest fraction of what he had felt when she left him on the Pearl, wrist shackled to the mast, she knew she deserved it. The circumstances might have been different, and perhaps more of a metaphor, but she'd marooned him, making her no better than Barbossa.

"_Pirate." _His voice echoed through her mind, haunting her. No truer statement had ever passed his lips. His lips… her kiss had been one of betrayal and deception, but it nevertheless seared her to the core, the memory of what it felt like to be kissing him forever engrained upon her soul.

"Stop," she muttered, ignoring another wave of nausea. "You should not be thinking of Jack Sparrow's lips." Her thoughts, she knew, were supposed to be reserved to thoughts of Will's lips. _Will _was her husband, her beloved. Not _Jack_. She told herself this time and time again, sometimes several times a day, but try as she might it never seemed to stick.

The whistle of the tea kettle broke her from her reverie about Jack and Will and all things concerning piracy. She rose to her feet and yet another wave of nausea hit her—hard. Before she made it to the stove, the whistle of the kettle growing louder and more persistent, she fell to her knees and threw up in one of the buckets gathering water from her leaky ceiling.

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**A/N**: Another chapter will follow soon!

In the meantime, go review! Reviews make me update faster... ;)


	2. That Old Familiar Sting

**HURT**

**Chapter 2—That Old Familiar Sting**

**DISCLAIMER: **Jack'n'Lizzie etc. do not belong to me. I make no money from the writing of this fan-fiction.

**A/N: **Just a little side-note I forgot to include in the first chapter—this story will mostly focus on Elizabeth, but we will see Jack sooner or later, I promise! So until then, keep a tight hold on your rum and a weather eye on the horizon. Our favorite Captain will be appearing eventually.

And thanks for the reviews! Seriously… it's what keeps me writing.

* * *

The warm sunshine was a welcome relief from the clouds and rain that had persisted for nearly a week. It kissed Elizabeth's cheeks as she walked and she tilted her head upwards, welcoming the warmth that crept through her skin and reverberated throughout her body.

As she drew closer and closer towards town, the sounds of the world continuing to turn—people going about with their daily business, children laughing, a dog barking—added to this long-lost feeling of contentment. Still, a part of her remained torn between craving contact and isolation.

Sometimes she felt like she was meant to be herself, like everyone and everything she touched would somehow wither under her presence. Like her mother, for example. She knew it wasn't _technically _her fault and she also knew that her father would be horrified to know that she sometimes felt this way, but in her mind, she knew that her mother would still be alive if it wasn't for her. It was _her _birth that brought on the bed-sickness that killed her mother.

Her father's death, too, circled back to her. It was her association with piracy that got her father in trouble. His desperate need to protect _her _is what connected him to Beckett, his murderer. The very same thing had happened to James. James died protecting her. He knowingly sacrificed his own life to ensure that she made it to safety.

Will's life sentence aboard the _Flying Dutchman _was undoubtedly her fault as well. She had absolutely no business being aboard that ship… she should have let Will and Jack handle things, but no, she had to show what she was made of. It was her presence that distracted Will. It was her presence, and the simple way that her new husband looked at her, eyes wrought with frantic concern, that piqued Jones' interest. She might not have wielded the sword, but it was her fault that the blade pierced his heart. His essential imprisonment aboard that ship was because of _her_.

And then there was Jack. Jack was the only one who made it out alive, in a matter of speaking, but somehow what happened to him plagued her the most. She knew it was because of the nature of things. While what happened to her other loved ones had been somewhat inadvertent, what she did to Jack was deliberate and planned. The feelings that arose in her stomach and chest as she watched the kraken take down the Pearl were some of the worst she had ever felt in her entire life, bar none. While he may have maintained his devil-may-care, part-and-parcel attitude, seeming at times to even be _proud _of her actions, she knew she'd hurt him deeply. Something about him never quite seemed the same after she did what she did.

She paused, her brow furrowing. She couldn't decide which was more troubling… the fact that her guilt overwhelmed her almost constantly or the fact that her guilt over Jack bothered her more than the others. Either way, the reminder of her culpability in the demise of everyone she cared about was an old sting that was all too familiar.

A wave of nausea, a symptom that had persisted all week, swept through her. She had no doubt that the cause of this unrelenting sickness was due to stress, which in turn was due to the merciless remorse she felt most frequently. Still, she was unwilling to continue to allow herself to feel this way, and was on her way into town to convene with a local doctor. Surely there had to be something she could do to stop this sweeping queasiness, or at the very least, find a way to minimize it.

She took a deep breath as she continued on her way, unable to stop her thoughts of that famed, elusive pirate who quite literally dove into her life not more than two years ago. Try as she might to ignore it, he'd been engrained in her mind since the moment she awoke from her watery haze to see his dark, fathomless eyes staring down at her. There was something indisputably unforgettable about him.

There was little room to argue on how much she'd been thinking about him lately. She could lie and tell herself that it was simply because the last _real _contact she'd had was with his father, someone who reminded her so much of the mysterious captain. Somewhere deep down inside, however, she knew there was far more to it than that. She'd had enough time alone with her thoughts to know that she had fallen for him—she'd fallen for him quite awhile ago, in point of fact, it just took her a long time to reach the point where it was too exhausting to deny it any longer.

As if she needed another burden of guilt… on top of everything else, now she was betraying Will. Nothing physical had happened, no confessions made, but the fact that she was having these feelings for any man other than her husband was infidelity enough. After all Will had done for her, after everything they'd been through, and after everything they'd meant to each other… how could she feel this way? How could she possibly desire a Jack Sparrow over a Will Turner?

It didn't matter. Despite her feelings for Jack, she would never act on them. She wouldn't do that to Will. And even if she was black-hearted enough to do that to Will, any chances she might have had with Jack (and she knew she had them—conversations about _persuasion _and the look of lust on his face coming to mind) were squandered the moment that manacle clicked tight around his wrist.

Elizabeth forced her thoughts to quiet, forced herself to focus on other things as she came into town. The half of her that craved solitude was unduly balanced by the half of her that wanted to be surrounded by people. Even if she continued to keep to herself, just being around others was a strange comfort she'd been missing for too long now.

She made her way down the cobbled streets, watching people go about with their lives, smiling, socializing, working, laughing… She smiled as three children, two boys and a girl, came running past her, giggling all the way. For a few moments she had forgotten about her most recent troubles, winding her way around a corner to the waterfront houses and businesses, a more desirable place in town to live. She walked all the way down the row, until there were but three houses left to go.

She stopped in front of a brick-clad row house, a wooden sign hanging from a modest portico that read _Doctor & Mrs. Adam Reade. _

She took a deep breath, forced herself up the front steps, and hesitantly knocked on the door.

* * *

"You summoned me, Captain Sparrow?"

Captain Teague Sparrow looked up from his desk, a wry grin spreading on his wrinkled, time-weary face. The dimly lit room made it difficult to see. Had it been anyone else, it might have been difficult to discern his features. But not him. Every line on the boy's face was perfectly memorized. Teague smiled again… oh, how he looked like his mother.

"Jacky," he greeted, motioning for his son to sit. "I didn't expect you to come so fast."

"Ask and you shall receive," Jack said dryly, plopping the folded letter down on his father's desk. "To what do I owe the honor of your invitation?"

"I'll be brief."

"Good to see you too, then." Jack smirked. "My, how I've missed your sentimentality."

"Never mind that," Teague said, waving his hand at his son's sarcasm. "I've been to see the girl."

"The girl?" Jack shrugged. "What girl?"

Of course he knew "what girl." He just didn't care to admit it. Nor did he care to admit that he spent a great deal of time thinking about "what girl," wondering where she was settled, how she was, what she was doing. Wherever she was, she was out on her own, a Swann flying solo for the first time in her life. He frequently wondered if she was lonely… and he wondered if she thought about him.

After such thoughts passed (which was becoming harder and harder to do), he would drown his concerns in a bottle (or two) of rum. Good pirates did not trouble themselves with _women_ or fluttery feelings of romance. Besides, it didn't matter. She was a married woman and even if he did have those feelings for her—which he most certainly did not—she was off limits. Contrary to popular belief, he did have _some _standards. Besides, he didn't want the recently undead Captain Turner chasing him about the Caribbean… he'd just gotten rid of one of the Dutchman's captains and he didn't fancy fleeing from another.

"You know what girl," Teague replied, his voice full of it's usually gruffness. Jack scowled. He might have been able to fool everybody else, himself included, but one person he had never been able to deceive was his father, not even as a mischievous young lad. "She's in a bad way."

Jack sat forward. "What do ye mean?" he asked, instantly regretting the urgency in his voice as an all-knowing smirk split onto his father's lips.

"I think you know what I mean, Jacky."

Jack scowled again, crossing his arms like a disobedient child. "Aren't we feeling cryptic?"

"Hush," Teague commanded, and Jack, feeling as though he was ten years old again, obeyed. "You should go to her, lad. Get her out on the sea again; fill her lungs with good, healthy, salty air."

"You haven't exactly explained how she's in a bad way," Jack grumbled, ignoring his father's advice.

"Will it make a difference?" Teague asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his flat stomach.

Jack's dark eyes cast themselves upwards at his father. He knew the answer. No. Of course it wouldn't. If Elizabeth was in trouble, be it physical, emotional, metaphorical… he would go to her. All those times he'd chided William for saving the damsel in distress. His body stiffened, a strange sensation moving over him as realization hit him hard, stinging him more than any maiden's hand across his cheek ever had.

A part of him still didn't want to go. But an even bigger part of him knew he would curse himself forever if he didn't. Whether he cared to admit it or not, he'd fallen for his golden-haired murderess, something only he could do. Her stony temperament both frustrated the hell out of him and exhilarated him to no end. He wasn't sure if he loved her… but he knew he cared. She told him once she always knew he was a good man and now was his chance to prove her right. He wasn't entirely sure why he cared, but he couldn't deny that he did.

His dark eyes cast themselves up towards his father.

"Where is she?"

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**A/N: **Okay, that's it for this chapter! Thanks for reading!

Please, please, please review!


	3. The Stains of Time

**HURT**

**CHAPTER 3—The Stains of Time**

**DISCLAIMER:** Jack'n'Lizzie etc. do not belong to me. I make no money from the writing of this fan-fiction.

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! They mean so much to me—without them I wouldn't have it in me to keep writing. :)

* * *

The still of the night was broken by an insistent rasping on the door. Joshamee Gibbs let out a grunt of protest and pulled the pillow out from under his head, squeezing it against his ears in an attempt to block out the unwelcome noise.

It was his first night in a _real _bed—in a bed chamber he had all to himself, he might add—in… he couldn't remember how long. That was one of the things he so appreciated about Shipwreck Cove… why it was such a relaxing haven for pirates from all over the world. A room to one's self, with a bed and not a hammock, for a night of much-needed rest. If there was such a thing as a pirate's resort, this was it.

His sleep-hazed mind was beginning to quiet again when the knocking turned into a persistent bang. He breathed in deep as he sat up, throwing the bed sheets off his legs. Only one man would was capable of making that kind of noise at such an ungodly hour—and Gibbs knew full well the consequences if he didn't indulge him.

He wrapped the linens around his shoulders as he shuffled across the dark room, enveloping himself in their warmth. He flipped the latch on the door and before he could open it himself, his captain barged in, lantern in hand. Gibbs watched with bleary eyes as Jack charged across the room to chest of drawers opposite the bed, grabbing fist-fulls of his quarter master's clothing and tossing them onto the mattress.

"Uh… Capt'n?"

"I'm helpin' you pack," Jack grunted, without so much as looking up from his task.

"Beg pardon?"

"We're leaving. Now."

Gibbs sighed and stifled a yawn. He squeezed his eyes shut, hardly surprised yet fully unprepared for his captain's behavior, and rubbed his temple. "I beg yer indulgence, Capt'n, but am I at liberty to ask why?"

Jack looked up from his hap-hazard attempt at packing Gibbs' things, a placid smirk on his face. "Goin' to see about a girl, Mr. Gibbs. I presume you don't need to ask which one."

Gibbs nodded and smiled his all-knowing smile. "Certainly not, Capt'n. Shall I rouse the crew?"

"Well why do ye bloody think I've taken to packing your things, then? Of course you should rouse the crew! Hop to it man!"

"Aye-aye, Capt'n!" Gibbs replied, jetting out the door, the smile not leaving his weathered face.

Jack watched him go, an unfamiliar pit in the bottom of his stomach. The last time he had felt this sort of unnerving dread was when Jones' black spot crept onto the flesh of his palm, signaling what would become a fight to the death. The memory of those few weeks, a constant chase that ended with the lips of a most beautiful murderess, had become a never ending fantasy—a series of boyish hopes and what-ifs all revolving around a one Elizabeth Swann.

Jack grimaced. He supposed it was Elizabeth _Turner _now.

He took a deep breath, continuing to shove Gibbs' minimal possessions into his sea trunk. No matter the girl's surname, she was still Elizabeth—his Lizzie. He couldn't explain why she was _his _Lizzie… those feelings didn't come from a need to posses her or claim her as only his. It was as if he recognized something her that he had in himself, a weird and wonderful connection that he'd never had with another person before.

At least that's how he felt. Elizabeth was a mystery he hadn't quite yet solved yet. He smirked. That was one of the things he loved most about her.

He slammed the lid of the trunk shut, feeling slightly unhinged, at least in an emotional sense. Since when had words like "connection" and "wonderful" and "love" come into his day-to-day vocabulary? Not that it mattered… Elizabeth was the one thing this pirate couldn't claim. He respected her too much for that. She was married and had made her devotion to Will perfectly clear. While half of him felt utterly distressed at that fact that she was "taken," so to speak, the other half of him oddly admired her for it.

Had he an open opportunity to posses fair Lizzie's heart, he wasn't even sure how he would go about doing it. His usual tricks and flirtations didn't seem right for her. She was so much more than some random strumpet he'd picked up in Tortuga. And if he _did _have such an opportunity, would it matter? He was often unsure of what kind of future they might have given what had happened in their past.

The months that had passed since he last saw her had gone by agonizingly slowly. Absence was supposed to make the heart grow fonder, but for her, perhaps the opposite was true… she had a tendency to defy decorum, as did he. Were the stains of time too messy and deep to make for a clean outlook?

"Crew's awake, Capt'n," Jack, startled, looked over his shoulder. He hadn't even heard Gibbs come in. "They be preparin' the ship for departure."

"Good. How long 'till then?"

"An hour, maybe two."

"Bloody unacceptable," Jack muttered, crossing his arms.

Gibbs yawned. "I assure you, they're doin' their best."

"Well how long 'till we get there?"

Gibbs paused, his eyebrows knotted. "Ye haven't specified where we're goin'."

Jack frowned. "Oh." His father had told him where she was, even given him detailed directions—which was a big deal, coming from Teague Sparrow—but he still felt like he needed reassurance. That uneasy pit in his stomach returned (had it ever left?) as he nervously fumbled on his belt for the compass that hung there. He held it carefully in the palm of his hand, his dirty thumb thoughtlessly flipping the lid open.

_This compass doesn't work! _A contented smile settled on his lips. He watched was the dial begun to spin. His chest tightened when it settled in the precise direction he knew it would. _And it certainly doesn't point to what you want most! _

"Oh Lizzie," he chuckled softly, forgetting completely that Gibbs was in the room. "How wrong you are, luv."

"Uh… Capt'n?" Gibbs' still very-tired voice broke him from his stupor.

"San Eugenio," Jack stammered. He paused, chewing his bottom lip nervously. "Dammit, s'more than four days away."

"Probably more," Gibbs answered.

"Probably more?" Jack's eyes widened, his irritability written plainly on his face.

"Well…" Gibbs was clearly unnerved by Jack's fragile temper. "Ye know how the weather's been, Jack… this is the first time without storms in quite awhile and they'll likely return before—"

"Posh," Jack snapped the compass shut and reattached it to his belt. "This coming from a man who survived a maelstrom. A little rainstorm is nothing to bat an eyelash at."

"But Capt'n—"

"Better get dressed Master Gibbs," Jack said, ignoring the older man's concerns and brushing past him out the door. "Going to be a bumpy ride."

* * *

It was nearly three o'clock in the morning and Elizabeth lay wide awake. She'd climbed into bed immediately upon returning from the doctor's that afternoon, and yet sleep had evaded her. She didn't want to eat—the mere smell from the food vendors in market on the way home made her sick.

Her nausea had not gone away. Nor would it. For at least three months.

_Pregnant. _

How could she be pregnant? How had she not been able to see the signs? They'd all been there… Exhaustion—she decided that was due to all the hard work she'd been doing, on her own. Nausea—that was supposed to be due to stress, the stress of being truly alone for the first time in her life, only made worse from the "exhaustion" she'd been experiencing. Tender breasts—her hard work left her with so many aching muscles that tender breasts were hardly… well, tender. Late menstrual cycle—with everything else going on in her so-called-life, inner turmoil included, how the hell was she supposed to notice (or even care?) that she'd been late.

Maybe he was wrong. He was, after all, a man. How should he know what was going on inside her if she didn't? _Because he's a trained professional. _

She rolled over in bed, her hand against her flat stomach. She and Will had only been together once. Once. And he had a job to do… he would only get to come home and be with her—and now their child—once every ten years. Once. Her heart ached, not for herself but for the husband she was no longer in love with and the child they had created their one and only time together. Her situation was one that made her wish to go to sleep for an eternity of peace and solitude.

Her situation? Did she just refer to her _baby _as a _situation_? She again rolled onto her back, both hands resting now on her stomach.

"You're not a situation," she whispered. She fought back tears, wishing she had her father's guidance. He raised her as a single parent. There were so many questions she had, wondering how she was supposed to manage this by herself. Her father was strong and resourceful and resilient—three things she felt she was sorely lacking at the present time.

"It won't change anything," she found herself saying, not even thinking about it, the words just coming to her. "I wish I could give you certainty. I don't know what the future holds. I can't guarantee how hard things will or will not be. But I can guarantee that I'm going to love you, so, so much. And I promise I will always be there for you."

She cleared her throat, her eyes burning with the combined pressure of trying to control her emotions and fatigue taking hold of her. She closed her eyes, finally drifting off to sleep as she wondered where she would be able to purchase a cradle.

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**A/N: **That's it for this chapter! Thanks for reading, now go review! :)


	4. A Million Miles Away

**FOR YOUR EYES ONLY**

**CHAPTER 4—A Million Miles Away**

**DISCLAIMER: **Jack'n'Lizzie etc. do not belong to me. I make no money from the writing of this fan-fiction.

**A/N: **I borrowed Elizabeth's dream sequence for this chapter from a dream sequence in an episode of _Buffy. _It just fit so well for Elizabeth and how she's feeling!

Thanks again for the reviews! They are, as always, greatly appreciated.

* * *

The wind was unrelenting, the rain harsh and stinging. Every drop felt like a rock, biting at Jack's skin and blurring his vision as he struggled to maintain a firm grip on the Pearl's wheel. It had been quite a while since his mighty vessel had been tossed around in the ocean as if she were a toy and now, of all times, was most inopportune. One man had already been tossed overboard in a violent swell. He'd had no choice but to turn around.

It would only be three, maybe as little as two, hours before the ship made it back to Shipwreck Cove. The damage sustained to the ship was such that continuing meant almost certain suicide. He'd be no good to Lizzie dead. Besides, she already had one "dead" man in her life… he figured she didn't need another.

He was absolutely freezing, fighting the urge to shiver with every passing moment, knowing he had to maintain a brave face for his crew. Morale was rapidly dwindling and he knew they needed someone strong to look up to. Still, his high pedestal didn't stop the ache in his muscles or the tension in his back. He knew it wouldn't be long before sheer exhaustion set in and falling asleep at the wheel was not something he wanted to do.

Additionally, the sheer frustration of it all did very little to keep up his spirits—this shouldn't be happening. This was a highly unusual time of year for such a brutal and cold storm. It almost felt as if the fates were conspiring to keep him away from her.

The ship pitched in another swell and he could faintly make out the sound of Gibbs' voice shouting orders to the crew over the uproar produced by the storm. All he could do was grip the wheel tighter, thankful that years of experience helped him maintain his balance.

Through every rumble of thunder, every flash of lightning, he forced himself to remember why he was doing this. Every once in awhile he would whisper her name, the surrounding noise protecting it from the ears of his crew.

What his father had told him disturbed him much more than he cared to admit. The Elizabeth Swann he had gotten to know, the real Elizabeth and not the one sheltered by a corset, was strong, resourceful and independent. He knew she never would have resigned herself to a prison-sentence, sacrificing everything that she desired most deeply for one day every ten years. The Elizabeth Turner that she was now, however, was only a shell of the stony-faced, quick-witted lass she used to be.

He knew full well what had caused this sudden turn in her personality… two little words… _"I do." _Not that he was vehemently opposed to marriage, not at all. His parents had been happily married until his mother's death on the eve of his twelfth birthday. He had no opposition to the institution. But he truly believed that Elizabeth married Will as a way to hold onto a life she used to have, a strange symptom of grief from losing her father, her only living family. Maybe it wasn't his place to have such thoughts. But that's how he felt and he could not, would not, change it.

It would be very easy for Jack to place the blame squarely on Will's shoulders. It would be even easier for Jack to hate the younger captain… but he didn't. He was actually fond of the lad… sort of. A man who didn't think like Jack would find fault on Elizabeth's husband, the symbol of a marriage that was more like a prison sentence. However, Jack had spent enough time to know that Will truly loved Elizabeth and would be horrified to know that their union was suffocating her.

He paused, his thoughts for a brief moment, wondering if perhaps it would be easier to go directly to Will and explain Elizabeth's predicament. He knew Will would release her gladly if he knew how weighted down she had become. But no. He'd never been one to mind his own business, but with Elizabeth, things were different. He knew that any decision regarding Will had to be hers and hers alone.

Still… a grin curled onto his lips, a visual of Lizzie flashing into his mind. He was suddenly transported to another place and time, the resolve on her beautiful face notwithstanding, as three words passed her magnificently sculpted lips. _I'm not sorry._ Despite instantly knowing that the end of his life was imminently near, he had never been more proud of her, for she had finally embraced the life he always knew she was meant to have. He'd called her a pirate and he'd meant it, right down to the very depths of his soul. She wasn't meant to die in a corset, the truest symbol of the confines of her upbringing. He inherently knew then and there that she was destined to die, pistol in hand and sword on hip, after a long life of utter freedom.

He liked to think that that long life of utter freedom would be spent at his side, a ray of sunshine that the Black Pearl was lacking. Again, however, he reminded himself that it was Elizabeth's right to chose where she wanted to be. Just because he had taken a page from Will's handbook to manliness and was about to act as her knight in shining armor, he knew that didn't mean she would show her gratitude by removing the shackles of one union to bind herself to another.

Even now, after months of these torturous _feelings_, it was still difficult to imagine how deeply he'd fallen for her. Other times, however, it felt perfectly natural, like he was always meant to feel this way. After years of enhancing his image, watching his reputation spur into legend, he'd finally succeeded. The world thought of him as a legend and in one fell swoop, forgotten he was still human. As awkward and uncomfortable as it was at first, he was still capable of love, and his proof didn't come from a compass that wouldn't point north. It came from something within, something he still didn't know how to explain, but he knew he felt it.

"Jack!" Gibbs' voice shook him from his thoughts, breaking through the din of the night. Jack didn't even notice that his quartermaster hadn't addressed him as _Captain_. "You've been at this for hours—you should get some rest!"

"M'fine," Jack responded, his heavy eyes and aching bones arguing otherwise.

"Yer not fine," Gibbs continued, "you look like you could sleep where you stand! You should go to your cabin!"

"Since when do you presume to give me orders?" Jack questioned, pretending he was still virile enough to care.

"Since you hired me!" Gibbs replied, a smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye, though Jack supposed that could have been from the rain. "We're close enough now, Jack," he continued. "Ye can trust me to get the ship to safe harbor." Jack eyed him, pretending to be wary, if only to maintain a captainly aura of foreboding.

Too tired to continue to argue with the older man, he simply nodded, holding fast to the wheel until both of Gibbs' paw-like hands were securely in place. He gave him a hearty slap on the back, if only to show his gratitude. On his way towards his cabin, he helped Marty secure a free-wielding rope and gave Pintel a slap on the back, as with Gibbs, at a feeble attempt to increase morale.

When he was securely locked inside the confines of his cabin, his overwhelming sense of fatigue helped him to quickly shed his clothing and effects. He collapsed into the warmth of his bunk and feel, only able to hope that this unwarranted delay would not have an adverse effect on Elizabeth's fragility. He wondered what he'd find when he reached her, and as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help but feel like she was a million miles away…

* * *

_The ocean's surface sparkled under the sunset's pre-sunset glow, and not for the first time, Elizabeth found herself taken aback by its unwavering beauty. There was the faintest of breezes lingering in the evening air, ruffling her hair only slightly. A feeling of contentedness spread through her, making her feel even warmer under the heat of the sun's rays. _

_From her perch on the cliff, she had a most magnificent vantage point, able to see the Pearl bobbing gently in the waves below and the horizon stretched out behind it. The baby, still growing inside her, gave a gentle kick, reminding her of all she had to be thankful for. _

_Another reminder of her infinite happiness came when she felt a strong pair of hands place themselves on her hips. A contented hum emerged from the base of her throat as those hands crept up her waist, coming around her front and coming to rest on the gentle swell of her belly. She leaned back against his hardened body, her head resting against his shoulder as he placed a careful kiss against her temple. She let out a giggle, his facial hair tickling her delicate skin. _

"_Come away with me tonight," he quietly begged, his voice smooth in her ear. She took a deep breath, reveling in his presence, hardly able to believe he was there. His scent was enthralling and completely his—the saltiness of the sea, the slight tang of rum, and a warmth that came from an intoxicating blend of spices. _

"_I thought we agreed to wait until morning," she replied, forcing her eyes open again. _

"_I suppose we did," he agreed, chuckling softly._

"_Promise me something?" She reached around behind him, placing her hand on the back of his neck. She closed her eyes again, as if waiting for his answer was a long awaited guarantee that she would no longer be alone. _

"_What's that, Lizzie?"_

"_Promise you won't leave? I'm so tired of people leaving…"_

"_I promise," he whispered. "Not even if you kill me."_

_Her eyes popped open. "What?"_

"_Not even if you kill me," he repeated, this time, his voice a ghostly whisper. The warmth of his body had gone cold and she pulled away from him. When she turned around, she was shocked and horrified to see his tanned skin had turned pale, his cheeks gaunt, his very soul drifting away as if death had come upon him…_

Elizabeth flew up in bed, a sharp, unfamiliar cramp hitting her in the pit of her stomach. This wasn't the first time she'd had a nightmare like this, but it was the first time it'd had such an effect on her. Her stomach was in knots and it hurt so bad she was beginning to develop a headache.

She placed her hand on her forehead, wiping away a thin trail of sweat that had beaded on her brow. She took several deep breaths in her best attempt to calm down, knowing this kind of stress couldn't be good for the baby. She looked to the window, noticing the lines of rain dribbling down the glass panes. The pounding in her head began to quiet and she could hear the sound of the storm raging outside. A flash of lightning shone brightly through the windows.

Dreams of Jack had become so common that she couldn't help but wonder why she was still so affected by them.

"Because you love him," she whispered, a part of her wondering where the declaration was coming from. That same part of her felt a small pang of guilt, fully realizing that she missed Jack more than she missed Will. The guilt she received at knowing that she had fallen for someone other than her husband had lessened, but was still persistent enough to make her feel like a wretched human being.

Another searing cramp surged through her, this time strong enough to make her forget about both Jack and Will, and she whimpered in pain. Tears welled up in her eyes, both from throbbing in her gut and the fear it left her with. Something was terribly wrong and she knew she needed help. Trying to push through another terrible cramp, she tossed the bed sheets aside and stumbled out of bed.

Lightning flashed outside once again, illuminating her tiny cottage just enough for her to see the bright crimson spots of blood on the mattress where she'd been sleeping.

* * *

**A/N: **Reviews make me update faster. :)

Thanks for reading!


	5. Hurt

**HURT**

**CHAPTER 5—Hurt**

**DISCLAIMER: **Jack'n'Lizzie etc. do not belong to me. I make no money from the writing of this fan-fiction.

**A/N: **First of all, as always, thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! I'm utterly grateful to have such dedicated, loyal readers. You guys seriously rock!

Secondly, this is the chapter that makes this a song-fic. Just a reminder, this story is based on the song "Hurt" by Johnny Cash. For anyone who's familiar with this song, you'll know that it's kind of dark and depressing, so let that be a warning for what this chapter will be like. _**This chapter is rated M for its disturbing, adult theme.**_

Thanks again for the reviews! Now on with the chapter!

* * *

Five days of drinking and self-loathing passed.

The night was beginning to wane. It would be light soon, the sun making its appearance on the horizon. Hours had gone by since Dr. Reade's most recent visit, asking her yet again with a kindness that made her weep if she wanted to stay under his care in his family's home, or even if he could send someone to stay with her. He was clearly worried about her and it was touching that someone who was essentially a stranger would care at all about her welfare. But she wanted to be alone, needed to be alone.

She sat in the corner of the cottage, as far away from the bed where she'd miscarried as possible. She'd removed the bloody sheets from the straw mattress and left them crumbled in a heap outside, next to the front door. She didn't want to wash them, didn't want to keep them, didn't want the reminder of what she'd lost. Yet try as she might, she couldn't escape it. She'd slept in her chair, on the floor, however only for an hour or two at a time. She didn't want to be in that bed.

Her legs were up tight against her chest. She'd stopped rocking over an hour ago, but the numbness hadn't gone away. She was utterly broken inside, and the small part of her that still felt sane felt farther and farther away with every hour that passed.

The cabin was lit by a single lantern, leaving the corners farthest from her completely black with darkness. A large cooking knife sat on the floor beside her. She hadn't quite figured out why she felt the need to have it there, but she did all the same. Two full, empty bottles of rum sat on the other side, accompanied by a half-empty bottle of vodka. The chest that held Will's hear sat in front of her, every passing beat a reminder of how she had failed him.

Her guilt had become all consuming. Will had been her constant friend nearly her entire life. Every time she'd needed rescuing it had been he who risked life and limb to come to her defense, giving up everything over and over again just for her. When it was her turn to pay him back, to make it up to him by remaining a loyal, patient wife, she failed. She had allowed her heart to go to another, had allowed herself to fall out of love with Will, and she hated herself for it.

When she found out she was pregnant with his child, she was determined to make things work, determined to wait for Will as she had promised raise their child as if they were a real family, regardless of his ties to the Flying Dutchman. She had one job to do—bring their baby safely into the world and be a good mother. At that, too, she had failed.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, barely loud enough for even her to hear. Her voice was heavy and distant and strained as she spoke… she didn't even recognize it. She leaned forward, gingerly holding onto the chest's handles as she pulled it towards her, into her lap. The lid creaked as she slowly opened it, forcing herself to look at the beating heart.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered again. She balanced the chest on her knees with her left hand, using her right hand to reach for the knife. She meant to grasp the knife's handle, but in the darkness she missed and her finger met the blade. She hissed in pain and instantly brought her hand up, watching a thin trickle of blood seep from the small wound. She did nothing to stop or slow the bleeding, but just sat there and watched it flow, almost surprised that she could feel it at all. It was a strange, sick reminder that this wasn't a horrible nightmare.

_I hurt myself today_

_To see if I still feel_

_I focus on the pain_

_The only thing that's real_

She blocked out the sting from the cut, looking down and grabbing the knife's handle. A part of her felt like she deserved to feel it, though, as if it were punishment for all she'd done. Her blurry, tear-filled eyes fluttered from the knife and back to Will's heart. It would be so easy to just stab it, to save him from the inevitable pain she would cause him on that one day when she confessed all. And certainly she deserved the imprisonment of being the Dutchman's captain more than he.

Her hand began to shake as she positioned the knife over the chest. _This is wrong…_ a small voice inside her head told her… _don't. Elizabeth, don't. _Her tight grasp suddenly broke and the knife hit the floor.

"I can't," she cried, "I can't…"

She quickly slammed the lid of the chest shut and pushed it away from her. She felt depressed and angry and frantic. Without thinking, she again grabbed the knife, slicing a shallow cut on the inside of her forearm. The only watched as she began to bleed, still amazed that through the turmoil inside her mind, she could feel anything at all.

_The needle tears a hole  
The old familiar sting  
Try to kill it all away  
But I remember everything_

It would be so easy to just end it… and she wanted to. She wanted to die. She felt so completely alone. Both her parents were gone, her mother taken during her birth… her own life gone so that her infant baby daughter would live. Self-loathing coursed through her, anger beyond consolidation. Why hadn't she been given the chance to do that? Her baby was an innocent. She was supposed to protect it. She had failed.

James, who had loved her and who she betrayed utterly, died so that she might escape Jones' ship. Will's duty had been charged to him because of her—it all started when he went off, yet again, to save her life. Things had been so different then. It had been a different time, a different place… the life she had now was so far removed she didn't even recognize herself.

_What have I become  
My sweetest friend  
Everyone I know goes away  
In the end _

And then there was Jack, a man who, despite how she tried otherwise, had captured her heart. She'd fallen in love with him, ardently, but the pain of knowing that he would never love her back had become too much. She had no doubt that he hated her, and she couldn't argue that he had absolutely every right to, considering what she'd done to him.

But it didn't change how she felt. There was no denying that he was a handsome man and she supposed that's where it started—as a simple attraction that became lust and then love. He'd proven himself to be a good man, more than once. He was intelligent, in a way different from most men, and she loved his devil-may-care attitude.

Her hand absently went up to the jade knot that hung around her neck. She would leave it to him. He should be pirate king, not she. Not that there was much to the title. The job was more honorary than anything else—and somewhat ironic. To be a king among pirates meant very little.

_And you could have it all  
My empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt_

Her thoughts drifted to her father. He would be so ashamed of her. It was he who she'd let down most. He would be so horrified to see what she'd become, where she was now. She was alone, essentially widowed and now childless, crumpled on the floor of a decaying one-room cottage, surrounded by empty alcohol bottles and a knife tinged with her own blood. She presided over a meaningless kingdom (of pirates, no doubt, a group of individuals whose lifestyle he thought abhorrent), and was completely ready to end it all.

_I wear this crown of thorns  
Upon my liar's chair  
Full of broken thoughts  
I cannot repair _

She forced herself to stop thinking of her father, the disappointment she knew he would feel too much to take. Involuntarily, her thoughts switched back to Jack.

She wondered where he was. Was he still on the Black Pearl, bickering with Barbossa over who was in control? Was he on his way to the Fountain of Youth? His life was a mystery enveloped in adventure and exploration. She knew he was destined to go on and do incredible things—someday, she knew, he would be at the forefront of history books as the greatest pirate that ever lived.

She, on the other hand, was stuck. She wasn't going anywhere. It would be over soon and she would fade into oblivion, forgotten by Jack, forgotten by the world. A small part of her was content with that, knowing that there was nothing left to live for.

_Beneath the stains of time  
The feelings disappear  
You are someone else  
I am still right here_

The knife still gripped in her fist, she tilted her head up, looking out the window as the first rays of light began to appear on the horizon. Somewhere in her head she was far away on a little island, dancing around a bonfire and drinking rum with an elusive pirate who plundered and stole her heart.

She wasn't _that _Elizabeth anymore. She was someone else. A part of her wished she could turn back time, if only to be that person one more time. She certainly didn't want to be here anymore. This place was the mark of her despair, a reminder of all she had done to make this happen.

_If I could start again  
A million miles away  
I would keep myself  
I would find a way_

Elizabeth carefully put the knife down, reaching for the bottle of vodka. She winced as she took a sip, lost in her agonizing misery. The storm had died days ago, leaving the early morning hours unwelcomingly quiet. She had no difficulty hearing a knock on her door, but she couldn't say that she cared at all. It was likely Dr. Reade again, coming to check up on her. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to see anybody.

She continued to drink, continued to ignore the noise at the door as the knocking became a pounding. She set the bottle down, leaving only a few mouthfuls left, and leaned her head against the wall. She closed her eyes, hoping that whoever it was would assume she was asleep, and leave her be. She was exhausted, days of drinking and a lack of sleep finally catching up with her. She felt dizzy and disoriented, her emotions only contributing to the physical aspects of her desolation.

She could feel a heavy haze settle around her, slipping away into the realm of unconsciousness. She was hardly able to react when the door burst open, forced to do so by who she could only assume was a murderous intruder. But she didn't care. Nothing mattered.

"Elizabeth." She looked up, her vision blurry and unfocused, to see a dark figure hovering over her. "Elizabeth, get up." Had she been sober, she might have recognized who it was, though the uncharacteristic sternness of his voice did little to make it more decipherable.

_I'm dreaming,_ she thought, both unwilling and unable to accept that this was happening.

"Come on… yer comin' with me." She felt limp and heavy when she felt two masculine hands place themselves on her arms. Suddenly she was being lifted to her feet, then off her feet. She was vaguely aware of her slight frame being carried out the front door, away from the place that had encompassed so much loneliness and pain.

She gasped and breathed in deep, a familiar aroma shocking her from her alcohol induced stupor… the saltiness of the sea, the slight tang of rum, and a warmth that came from an intoxicating blend of spices. It was so strong and vivid and she instantly knew she wasn't dreaming. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes as realization dawned on her.

"Jack?" she whimpered, hardly able to believe he was there.

"Yes, Lizzie," he whispered. "It's me."

She didn't know where he was taking her and she didn't care. For the first time in she didn't know how long, she felt a long-lost glimmer of hope. That small ray of sunshine overwhelmed her and the dawn started to go dark, blessed sleep finally taking her.

* * *

**A/N: **Suicide is a very real and very serious thing. If you or anyone you know is struggling with depression, please seek help or contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

Thanks for reading! I'll be out of town visiting family next weekend, so no update then. Reviews might encourage me to update before then, though. :)


	6. Sweetest Friend

**HURT**

**CHAPTER 6—Sweetest Friend**

**DISCLAIMER: **Jack'n'Lizzie etc. do not belong to me. I make no money from the writing of this fan fiction.

**A/N: **First of all, I would like to extend my greatest thanks to everyone who has read this story and consistently reviewed. It is for such dedicated readers that I continue to write. Second of all, I just want to thank everyone for their patience… I have been _extremely _stressed out with school these past few weeks and I haven't had a lot of time to write. Sorry this chapter is overdue! And last but not least, this is the final chapter for the story. I hope the ending is satisfactory for everyone! Enjoy!

* * *

The sun had set no longer than an hour ago, and Elizabeth hadn't yet opened her eyes. Every now and then she would stir or have a small fit in her sleep, the product, no doubt, of the never-ending nightmare she'd been living in since she was left behind after the maelstrom.

_Left behind_. Jack had never thought of it that way, never realized she felt the way she did until he was summoned by his father to Shipwreck Cove. He had always thought, considering what happened to her father and then to Will, that she wanted a quiet life, a life away from the madness that had caused their deaths. That's why he had stayed away, not because he didn't want to see her (God knows he did) or didn't care, but because he had always thought that that's what she wanted. If he had only known…

He took a deep breath from his chair in the corner, where he sat, quietly observing her. He had to remind himself that berating himself would not help Elizabeth… a self-pitying fool was not what she needed right now. He wanted the focus to be entirely on her getting better.

Still, there was little he could do to calm the enormous amount of guilt he felt. He knew full well that none of this would have happened had it not been for him. She had gotten wrapped up in his life, quite inadvertently and at no true fault of her own, and _her _life had been in a downward spiral ever since. All he could do now was offer his help, in any way possible, in a last-ditch effort for forgiveness.

The image of the broken woman he'd found, crumbled on the floor, surrounded by alcohol, a bloody knife and the still beating heart of her undead husband. It was a visual he had never wanted to see, one that would not vacate itself from his mind easily. It shook him to his very core to see her like that, so despondent that she'd considered taking her own life.

He hadn't given orders to set sail yet. If that's indeed what she wanted then he would make all haste away from this dreary and dismal place. But he wasn't sure at all what she really wanted, so the Pearl was left anchored in the small bay by the cliffs where her cottage sat. Either way, he'd already sent Gibbs to fetch some things for her, including the chest that contained Will's heart.

When the older man returned, he'd told his captain of the crumpled, bloody sheets he'd found, and Jack knew instantly the trigger to her attempted suicide. Once upon a time, he'd witnessed his own mother's miscarriage at the tender age of seven, what would have been a little brother or sister. It was an event from which she had never recovered, and he could only pray that the outcome for Elizabeth would be different.

It had been some time since he'd slept, and despite his determination to stay alert should she awaken and need him, he couldn't fight the heaviness in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, closing his weary eyes for only a moment. Before he could fight it off, he'd drifted into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_The storm had returned, just as harsh and cold and unrelenting as it had been before. The clap of thunder awoke Elizabeth from her sleep, and her infant, too. The child immediately began to cry. She sat up in bed, throwing back the sheets and set her feet on the ground._

"_I'm coming, darling," she called out in the night, making her way across the dark, one room cottage to where the bassinet stood. "Mummy's coming."_

_She peeled back the satin blanket covering the opening of the bassinet and was instantly horrified to see it empty. Yet her baby continued to cry. Panic immediately set in as she frantically peeled back blanket after blanket in a desperate search for her child. _

"_Where are you?" she cried, looking everywhere for the baby. She darted around the room, fumbling through the darkness in her search. The crying only got louder. _

"_I'm coming!" she promised. "Mummy's coming!" She was beginning to sweat, a dull sickness settling in to the depths of her belly. _

_Suddenly the door flew open, letting rain into the small home they shared, and a flash of lightning illuminated the doorway. The cry of her baby became more distant, sounding more like an echo that was growing farther and farther away. _

"_No!" she screamed. "Come back! Come back!" _

* * *

Elizabeth shot up in bed, a cold sweat on her brow, the frantic panic that she'd felt in her nightmare staying with her even as she resumed consciousness. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked around, her surroundings distantly familiar. The room was dark and it took several moments for her eyes to adjust. Once they did, she was deeply relieved to see the familiar knick-knacks and oddities that could only belong to Jack. His scent, a scent that well suited him, permeated the air, and she instantly found herself more able to relax.

She settled back against the pillows, blinking away a few stray tears and wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. While she felt an undeniable comfort at being in his cabin, it was not enough to quell the ache she felt (and had been feeling) as a result from her loss. She craved contact, needed it, to a point where she hurt inside. She swallowed back more tears, but when she looked up to see Jack, sleeping quietly in a chair across from the bunk, she couldn't help it. She let out a sob and covered her face with her hands, overwhelmed and humiliated by the fuss she must have caused.

That one sob was all it took to wake Jack from his sleep. He quickly sat up, blinking hard several times, to see that Elizabeth was awake… and crying. Before he could guard himself from this distraught young woman, he was up on his feet, sitting again on the edge of the mattress. She didn't look up as the mattress dipped with his weight… she was too embarrassed.

He had nothing to offer her (he'd never been the type of man to carry a handkerchief—chicken foot yes, handkerchief no), but he had always been clever with improvisation. He quickly untied the bandana around his head and without saying anything, handed it to her.

"Here," he said gently. Her hands shaking, she slowly removed them from her face, tears staining her porcelain cheeks. She stared at him, a removed, tentative look in her eyes. "It's clean," he promised. Then with a shrug, he added, "sort of."

He had wanted her to laugh, but she didn't, and he wasn't surprised. He hadn't expected her to. She said nothing as she carefully took the bandana from him, burying her face in it and continuing to sob. He sat there, feeling awkward and foolish and completely unsure of what to do. After several moments passed, he finally spoke, saying the first thing that came into his mind.

"It will get better, 'Lizabeth," he said. She gasped, choking back another sob, as she lowered the bandana from her face and stared at him. He instantly felt like the single biggest idiot to ever live, but some uncontrollable part of himself continued to speak anyways. "I know it sounds like a right daft thing to say… and I know ye can't see it now. But it will get better."

She stared at him for a few more moments before speaking. She hadn't even wondered how he knew, but it seemed he always did. He was the all-knowing Jack and a part of her was thankful she didn't have to tell him. "Have you ever lost a child before, Jack?" she asked, not meaning to sound as harsh as she did.

He offered her a simple smile. "No. An' I can't imagine what turmoil passes through the mind of a mother experiencing the loss of her babe. But I have witnessed it. I have been there." She looked at him, puzzled. He sighed and shrugged as through it were nothing, but the extreme pain his mother went through was something he would never, ever forget. "I was seven when it happened to my mum."

Elizabeth said nothing—for what could she say? She looked away from him, her tear-blurred eyes locking onto the wet bandana clutched in her hands. "I'm sorry," she finally said, her voice cracking as she spoke. Her throat felt tight and saturated and she barely recognized her own voice. She gasped again, practically startled at the touch of another person (especially _his _touch, which felt so uncharacteristically soft and tender) as his hand came to rest on her knee, squeezing gently.

"You have _nothing_ to be sorry over." His dark eyes bore into hers and she knew he meant more than just the issue at hand. She again felt overwhelmed and more tears began to stream down her cheeks.

"I wanted to die," she cried. "Why didn't you just let me die?"

The sight of her so unhinged, so clearly distraught, disturbed him immensely. He didn't know what to say or what to do, and he found himself fighting his own urge to cry with her. Pirates did NOT cry. And it certainly wasn't what she needed now. All he could do was scoot forward and wrap his arms around her quivering frame. He placed one hand on the back of her head and gently urged her face towards his shoulder. He was surprised when she leaned into him with no sign of protest, grasping the fabric of his coat.

"What?" he replied. "And be haunted by Your Highness for all eternity? No thank you, I quite value my sleep." Elizabeth choked out a laugh and Jack instantly felt a comforting warmth spread through his belly. "That's my girl."

Elizabeth felt an odd sense of relief at hearing him refer to her as _"my girl." _She pulled away from him, again wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

"I can't go back," she told him. "I can't go back there."

"Then you won't."

She swallowed, her throat sore from recently drinking nothing but alcohol. "But I have no place else to go."

Jack cocked an eyebrow, looking at her in a way that suggested she'd said something stupid, and she didn't know whether to be hurt or amused. "Come now, Lizzie," he said. "You know better than that."

Fresh tears sprung to her eyes, once again overwhelmed by his kindness. He was being so good to her, so honest, that she felt she owed him the same courtesy. A part of her was screaming in the back of her mind, _no—the time is not now, _but she couldn't hold it back any more. Jack was giving her a fresh start—the least she could do was be completely honest with him.

"I have…" she started, trying to quickly come up with a decent way to tell him. "I need to tell you something."

"Oh?" He smirked. "I'm an awfully good person to be confessin' things to, having made many myself."

She smiled, almost wishing he wouldn't be so charming and amusing for once. Maybe it would make her task easier. "I prayed for you," she spat out, deciding that it would be far more painless to get it out quickly. "I spent a great deal of time hoping you would come for me. I don't know that you realize it Jack, but some time ago you stole my heart and I have a feeling that you're never going to give it back."

She dared not look at him, too terrified at her declaration to lock eyes with him. It wasn't until she felt his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up towards his that she looked at him again.

"Well…" he said, pausing as his eyes flittered away from hers. "What kind of pirate would I be if I returned what I took?" She felt as though her heart would stop beating, though in a wonderful, peaceful sort of way. "I'll make you a deal, Lizzie," he said, his voice soft and very un-Jack like. "If you let me keep yer heart… I'll let you keep mine. Sound fair?"

When she opened her mouth to verbalize her emotions, her breath caught in her throat, once again overwhelmed at how incredible this man was. Unable to speak, she placed a hand on the back of his neck, kissing him softly. It was a brief kiss, but the moment their lips met she felt something go through her, a sense of completion she'd been lacking her entire life. "Lie with me?" she asked, her eyes still glossy with tears.

"Aye." He nodded and leaned forward, placing a contemplative kiss on her forehead. She watched him, a long-lost feeling of happiness spreading through her like the warm rays of the sun, as he kicked his boots off and quickly shed his jacket and effects. When he was wearing nothing but his shirt and breeches, she scooted over, peeling back the covers and allowing him to slide in next to her.

He settled back against the pillows, looping an arm around her waist and tugging her gently towards him. She leaned against his chest and without saying another word, closed her eyes, smiling softly as he began to hum a sweet melody in an attempt to lull her back to sleep.

She didn't know what she was going to do next, didn't know how long it would take her to completely recover from what was the darkest period of her life. But she knew she could do it—knew with Jack's help that somehow everything would be alright. He was her sweetest friend, her dearest companion. With him, a part of her felt whole again, and the hurt she'd been living with for months was finally beginning to dissipate.

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**A/N: **Thank you for reading! Now go review! :)


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